Great, Beautiful, Terrible Things
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Love,the most powerful force in the universe. It can shelter a person from the storm, bolster one against adversity, and as Dean learns when it comes to family, bring one to their knees.
1. Chapter 1

Great, Beautiful, Terrible Things

By: Ridley C. James

Rating: T-for language, violence and mention of sensitive themes

_A/N: Here is my **'thank you' **piece for all the kind reviews I have received and not individually replied to. It is the Devil's due. BG. All of your kind comments, especially the ones about Caleb, and the Brotherhood have encouraged me to keep writing. Anyway, this is the scene that Dean tells Marilyn about his and Sam's childhood in _Facing the Dark_. I've always wanted to write it, and decided to play with it after a frustrating day of work. P.S. I have a huge respect for DCS agents and Foster families. I have worked with both over the years and have found so many amazing individuals willing to go to any extreme to save the life of a child. In no way do I mean to belittle their jobs. Also, I planned on posting this after the end of _The Line_, but then Tidia, added a few lines of her own to the story and it demanded to come before the ending of Duran…I mean before the end of the line for Duran…or the end of _The Line_. (Ridley smiles slyly) You get the picture. _

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**Sandstrom Memorial Hospital, Texas 2005**

_No one understood what Sam was to him. _

_Not even Sam, maybe Dean didn't even understand it himself._

_All he knew was that ever since Sam had been born, even before their mother's death, he'd felt an almost desperate, innate, calling to protect his brother. "I'm not saying Sam is my life, but he, well, he..."_

_"Gives you a purpose?" Marilyn understood that feeling. She'd been a parent, after all. She'd loved someone so unconditionally, that she would have walked in front of a speeding train to protect him. The therapist also knew how risky it was to identify so completely with another. It was one of those blessing/curse ironies in life that really could kick you in the ass. _

_"How sad is that?" _

_It wasn't the heartbreaking sincerity of the words so much as it was the imploring look on his face that had Marilyn aching for the young man again. _

_"I don't think it's sad at all, Dean. I think it's quite beautiful."_

_If he'd had the energy, Dean would have been pacing. The sluggishness that had rested over his body like a fog, was another side effect of the medicines that he hated. "Beautiful. Right." The young hunter looked down at his hands, twisted the silver ring around his finger. How could he make her understand this? _

_"There was this one time we were living in some run down trailer park in Arkansas, and I guess I was about fifteen. Sam made friends with this kid a few trailers down from us." _

_Dean could see Zach's face as if it were only yesterday. He was a scrawny kid a couple of years younger than Sam. What he remembered most though were his vacant eyes, and the bruises he always had. _

_"Sammy was always bringing home strays when we were kids. Cats, birds, baby rabbits- you name it. If it was sick or hurt or lost my brother wanted to save it."_

_"I can see that." And Marilyn could. In the short time she'd spent with Sam, it was obvious to her that he was capable of great caring. Dean might have been born to wear the tough guy mask of indifference, but his brother wore his heart on his sleeve. _

_The hunter looked up at her. "He came home from playing one day and he had a black eye and busted lip." _

_The damn image was one of many burned into Dean's memory. Sam in spite of his 6'4'' stature these days, had been a small kid. His clothes never seemed to fit right and his long brown hair always managed to be hanging in his expressive brown eyes. He was like an adorably cute puppy in the pet store window. No one could deny him much, not John, and certainly not Dean. _

_So, seeing little Sammy with his favorite Spiderman shirt torn and splattered with blood, and his eye quickly swelling to one hell of a shiner, understandably sent his big brother over that invisible edge. _

_"Did he and the little boy get into a fight?" Marilyn hadn't missed the fact that the young man before her had clenched his hands into fists and his warm, moss green eyes had grown hard and distant. _

_He shook his head. "No. I knew Zach wouldn't have been able to get the best of Sam." His kid brother might have been small and too kind for his own good sometimes, but he'd been trained by one of the best. John Winchester had taught his boys to defend themselves against the worst evil that could be conjured. No eight year-old could have hurt Sam. _

_"It was the kid's old man." Dean had known the guy was bad news. John had told them both to stay away from the place, but Sam had begged Dean to go and play with Zach when their father was working, and telling Sam no just wasn't as easy as their father made it look. "He came home from work early one day when Sam was there."_

_Castle was a firm believer in the idea that everyone had those moments in their lives when they made a choice that would shape, or change, who they were forever. She was sure Dean was about to give her a glimpse at just such a moment in his. "I imagine that you and your father were very upset?"_

_Dean looked at her as if she had just said that Angelina Jolie was somewhat attractive. "I lost it." _

_He looked back down at his hands. "Dad was working out of town, and Sam was bleeding, and crying, and I didn't know what to do." _

_"What did you do, Dean?"_

_"I found the bastard drinking it up with some of his buddies, watching a football game."_

_Zach had apparently made the mistake of walking in front of the TV and his dad had felt the need to get him out of the way by backhanding him across the room. Sam had inadvertently gotten in the way, while trying to help. The old man had actually grinned when he told Dean that his shrimp of a baby brother needed to be taught some damn manners. _

_"Did he admit to hurting Sam?"_

_Dean nodded. "Did I mention that Mr. White Trash weighed about 260 and had to duck just to get through his doorway?"_

_Marilyn sighed. Unfortunately, the cruelties of what a parent could afflict on a child didn't surprise her. She'd worked with far too many children to have retained that innocence. "Did you tell your father?"_

_"The police called him." Dean swallowed hard. "After they arrested me."_

_"I see." _

_No, Dean really didn't think she did. "I beat him until I couldn't feel my fists any longer, then I used a table leg. And I took his friends out too, because they were there, and they didn't do anything to stop it." The admission was said calmly and with a matter of fact air. _

_The therapist had heard bravado before, but that wasn't the impression she was getting from Dean Winchester._

_It was hard to imagine a half-grown teenager taking on three men, but something in the young man's eyes told her that he was more than capable. No. He wasn't bragging, he was just telling her like it was._

_A chill raced its way down her spine. _

_So, the brothers were more different than she had previously thought. "What stopped you_?"

_"Sam." The name sounded almost like a prayer when he said it, and it had Marilyn rethinking her previous assumption. Dean's eyes glistened as he met her gaze. "Sam stopped me." _

_Okay, so maybe they weren't so different after all. "He must have been very frightened."_

_"All I could think about was the fact that the bastard had hurt my little brother. I wanted to kill him, would have killed him." He shook his head. "That's not beautiful."_

_Marilyn started to reach out and lay a hand on his arm, but rethought her decision. This wasn't Sam she was dealing with. _

_"Dean, someone wiser than myself once said love causes people to do great, beautiful, terrible things. And it's true." _

_She waited patiently for the young man to look at her again. _

"**Love**_ is the most powerful emotion that I have encountered. It can move mountains, and it can destroy kingdoms. Who is to judge what we do in the name of something so extraordinary…so powerful."_

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**Memphis, Tennessee Summer 1994**

The phone was ringing, but Caleb Reaves tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the leggy red-head, Amanda, sitting on the barstool in front of him. He'd just spent the last five hours trudging through the darkest streets of Memphis. It was after six, and he wasn't about to answer a call from Bobby-who had sent him on the damn goose chase in the first place. Besides, Red was smiling at him in an easy way that said he'd be busy for the rest of the evening, receiving some much needed Southern comfort.

Unfortunately, cell phones were notorious for having no sense of romance or timing. The damn thing continued to ring until the twenty-three year-old finally answered it. "What!" He barked into the receiver. "I swear to God, Bobby, if this is about me sneaking an EMF into fucking Graceland…"

"Caleb?"

The familiar voice, accompanied by a completely uncharacteristic tremor had the hunter reflexively tightening his hold on the cell. His heart rate sped up as he swallowed back the bitter taste of fear. "Deuce?" He pressed the phone closer to his ear to drown out the blaring blues band in the background. "What's going on?"

"I…I'm in jail."

"What?" Caleb shrugged off the hand that Amanda was currently running through his dark hair, trying to regain his undivided attention. "What the hell did you do? Where's John?"

"Dad's working…in Jonesboro, Arkansas," He replied, sounding somewhat steadier. "Pastor Jim said you were close by."

Caleb glanced up at his _date_. "Hey? Do you know how far Jonesboro, Arkansas is from here?"

The red-head sat her drink on the bar, tilted her chin as if she were about to perform brain surgery. "Is it close to Little Rock?" So much for choosing company solely on the looks factor.

The hunter sighed. "Deuce how far are you from Little Rock?"

"Not far."

"Then I'm pretty damn close. What the hell happened?"

"Sammy…Caleb, they took Sammy. I don't know where."

"Who?" Reaves stood now, grabbing his leather jacket from the empty stool on the other side of him and started for the door, despite the red-head's protests. "Who took Sammy?"

"Some fucking suits, man," Dean choked. "Children Services, I guess. He was fighting them…they put me in cuffs."

"Just calm down, kid." Caleb could almost picture the distraught teen as he stepped out of the bar into the thick, muggy evening air. The boy was tough, but Sam was his Achilles heel. "We'll get him back. Where exactly are you?"

"Jonesboro Municipal Building."

"Tell me what happened," Caleb asked as he opened the door to his Jeep.

"I got in a fight-with some guys."

"And?" The hunter cranked the engine. That didn't sound too bad.

"And I got carried away," Dean's voice came through the line lower this time. "Two of them were unconscious…I might have killed one."

Okay, so it was bad. "Damn it, Dean!" The older hunter hissed, pounding the palm of his hand onto the steering wheel. "You know not to draw attention to yourself. You're fourteen for Christ's sake." Irony overwhelmed him-one of those deja vu things that always freaked him out. How many times had Caleb rolled his eyes when John had said something so similar to what he'd just barked at Dean when he was the kid's age and had gotten into a stupid fight and lost his temper.

"The fucking piece of shit hit Sam."

The psychic sighed as he pulled out of the parking lot onto the road that would lead him to the Interstate. Now it all made more sense. "Deuce…did you call your dad?"

"Yeah. So did the cops."

"And?"

"His voice mail picked up."

Caleb rubbed at his tired eyes. John had a habit of turning his cell off, getting drawn into a hunt so that nothing else registered. "Do you know where he is?"

"Somewhere in the Ozarks. He said he wouldn't be back until tomorrow."

"And you called Jim?"

"He couldn't get a hold of him either and Pastor Jim's too far away."

"I know." Caleb knew Jim was John's safety net, but sometimes the man forgot that the pastor couldn't magically transport himself across the country. "Look, I'll be there in less than an hour. Just hold on."

"Hurry," Dean's voice held a pleading quality that Caleb hadn't heard in years, and it cut him to his core. "But find Sammy first. He was scared…and hurt."

"I'll take care of it. I promise." Reaves cut the connection, dialing Mac's number as he glanced around the darkened interior for the damn atlas.

"_Hello." _

"Mac, I need a favor."

"_And it's so nice to hear your voice, too, son." _

Caleb heard the shuffling of papers, imagined his father's flustered look as he sat behind his mahogany desk. "I need some quick guardianship papers."

"_What?"_

He heard Mac sigh and prepared himself for the next words.

"_You must have meant to dial Joshua's number? Isn't he your own personal document Rembrandt?" _

"No. I don't need an I.D. I have one with Winchester on it. I just need some official-looking court papers."

"_Winchester?" _

Caleb felt the wave of anxiety as if he were in the same room, not hundreds of miles away. He noticed the change in the other man's tone. It went from sarcastic to concerned instantly.

"_What's wrong?" _

"I don't know all the facts, but Dean and Sam are in trouble-Department of Children Services kind of trouble."

"_Where's John?" _

The young hunter didn't answer.

He didn't want to hear Mac's speech on proper parenting for about the thousandth time. Caleb was sure that wherever John was, he had a good reason for being there.

"_Son? I asked you where their father was?" _

"Working," He finally admitted.

"_You mean hunting?" _

"Semantics," Caleb replied, gruffly. "Dean called me after Jim told him I was close by."

"_Are they okay?"_

Reaves could hear the anxious undertone and it made him nervous.

"Dean's been arrested-he sounded shook up. He said Sam was hurt."

"_Damn it!"_

The rare curse had Caleb pulling the phone slightly away from his ear.

"_Will we need a lawyer?" _

"I don't know the details, Dad. Just fax me the damn papers!" Caleb would fix it, one way or another.

"_Where am I suppose to procure these documents, Caleb?" _

"Use the temporary ones you had drawn up for me when I was a kid-and don't tell me you don't have them color-coded and filed away somewhere right at your anal fingertips. White- out the names. It doesn't have to be perfect-just good enough to get me in the door. I'll do the rest."

"_That's forgery, not to mention impersonation. You're not John's brother, as that fake I.D. states." _

"So?"

A deep sigh. _"Have I taught you nothing?" _

"You taught me about loyalty."

"_Touché," _

There was a slight pause and Reaves knew he was about to get his way. _"Where shall I have the felony act sent?" _

"Jonesboro Municipal Building in Jonesboro, Arkansas. And it wouldn't hurt if you could maybe have one of your lawyer buddies ready to vouch for me, just in case."

"_You know hunting and the real world doesn't mix well." _

"I know."

Mac sighed heavily and Caleb felt bad that he hadn't seen the man in over a month. Maybe John wasn't the only one that let himself get buried in a hunt. _"But I'll see what I can do. Call me as soon as you've got the boys."_

"I will."

"_And Caleb?" _

"Yeah?"

"_Try to use at least a small modicum of restraint when dealing with the authorities."_

"Are you insinuating that I have issues with the police?"

"_I'm not insinuating anything. I just don't want to have to raise bail money at this late hour."_

Caleb smirked. "Right. I'll be a good boy."

And he had every intention of behaving himself, right up until he saw Sam's face. "What the hell?" He shouted, causing the pretty blond caseworker beside him to jump. "Did you let a doctor examine him?"

"We called a nurse, but Sam refused to see her." The woman, who had introduced herself as Kim, explained calmly. "He seemed more upset than actually injured."

"That's why his eye is swollen shut? He's emotional?"

"I assure you, Mr. Winchester, that your nephew is quite fine." Kim's partner, Mills, was half as polite, and a whole hell of a lot uglier. "He was out of control when we brought him in, so we had to put him in the time out room for his own safety."

"He's barely ten!" Caleb shouted, gesturing towards the two-way mirror they were standing behind. The same glass separated him from Sam, who was huddled in the corner of the padded room. "And he weighs about fifty-five pounds soaking wet. You couldn't handle him, tough guy?"

The balding investigator frowned. "You'd rather I put him in restraints?"

"Be glad you didn't." The hunter's voice was deadly serious. "Now open the damn door, before I kick it down."

Sam looked up when the door was opened and his gaze instantly went to the only familiar face in the room, surprise and relief wrestled for dominance on his young features as he braced himself against the wall and stood. "Hey, kiddo. Ready to spring this joint?"

"Caleb?" Sam made a cautious move forward, and waited for the older man to sidestep the caseworkers before starting in his direction.

"You okay, Sammy?" Caleb asked, bending down in front of the little boy so he could get a better look at his face. The ten-year-old was going to have a pretty impressive black eye, and his bottom lip was swollen from a small cut running across it. "Are you hurt?"

Sam shook his head, his ash-brown hair falling into his eyes. Caleb didn't miss the way his right arm was hugged across his small body. He reached out and tugged the little boy's hand away. The hunter pushed the much too big flannel shirt he guessed was Dean's out of the way so he could lift the blood-stained t-shirt beneath. "Damn," he hissed, turning an angry glare to the man and woman behind him. "You people call this fine?"

He was somewhat satisfied when Kim's face drained of color and her gaze flicked to her partner, who also blanched. "He never said anything."

"Yeah, well, he's a real quiet kid." Caleb looked back to Sam, knowing that the boy in question was also use to handling his fair share of injuries without complaint. But, the bruised impression of a shoe was not one of them.

"Where's Dean?" Sam finally asked, his hand latching onto Caleb's shirt. "I want to see Dean."

Reaves looked him in the eye. "We're going to get him, Sammy, but we need to take care of you first."

Sam frowned, his watery, wide eyes not hiding his fear. "Where's Dad?"

"Working."

"We left him a message on the number that your other nephew gave the police." Kim bit her bottom lip, thoughtfully. "He's not returned our call. We were about to call the foster care division."

Caleb shot Kim an angry look. There was no way in hell Sam was falling into the system, not even for one night. The young hunter had experienced his fair share of foster homes, and in his experience Mac's was by far the exception, not the rule. "John will come when he gets the damn message, but Sam's **not** staying here, and he's not going into some stranger's home. I can guarantee you that."

"Are you even old enough to have temporary guardianship?" Mills waved some papers at Caleb, his pudgy features reflecting his doubt. He looked at the kid's torn jeans, long hair, and biker boots and drew all the wrong conclusions. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't look that way."

The hunter stood up and turned on the bald investigator. "Are you smart enough to be in this job?" Caleb nodded to Sam, " Because from where I'm standing, it's not really looking that way."

"He has the documentation, Sid." Kim offered an apologetic and somewhat appreciative glance in Caleb's direction. "You know it's better to release a child to a relative if one is available and suitable." She looked at the long haired man again. "I'll be glad to call one of our nurses to examine Sam while you complete the appropriate paperwork."

"No," Sam tightened his hold on Caleb. "I want to go with you. I want to see Dean."

"Hey." Caleb squatted back down and put a large hand on the back of the little boy's neck, giving it a light squeeze. He lowered his voice. "Your brother and your Dad would kick my ass if I let something happen to you. Let them check you out. Okay?"

"You won't leave me here?"

The hunter sighed when Sam's eyes filled with tears. He could understand how frightening the whole ordeal had been. Despite the things the kid had seen in his short life, he had been extremely sheltered when it came to certain things in the real world.

Sam depended on Dean and his father completely, and even Caleb would do anything to protect him, but this wasn't up his alley, damn it. Crying women were bad enough, but a leaking Sam was an entirely different dilemma.

The hunter swallowed his well-honed instincts and pulled Sam in for a brief hug, something he'd see Dean do on occasion. It felt awkward and mechanical, but the sense of comfort that it obviously gave the kid was worth it. He pushed Sam back slightly, reached out and ruffled his hair, "No, runt. I'm not going to leave you here. You're stuck with me."

The ten-year-old wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Do I still have to see the nurse?"

Damn, he was tricky. "Yes." Caleb recognized the tactic, and glanced away from the soulful gaze. His eyes went to Kim's. "Make sure **you** stay with him-not Mister Personality."

The caseworker nodded. "Agent Mills can help you with the paperwork."

"Right," Mills grunted. "I'll hold his hand while he signs his name in crayon." The man turned to go without waiting for Caleb.

"He always so friendly?" The hunter asked, standing, one hand still resting on Sam's shoulder.

Kim smiled. "Mills has been in the system for twenty years. He's a little rough around the edges, but he really does care about the kids. He wants what's best for them."

"Like locking them up in padded rooms and separating them from their families?"

"Sam's brother was taken by the police, not us. We couldn't leave a ten-year-old alone, unattended. I don't think you would have wanted that."

"Dean didn't do anything wrong. He was protecting me and Zach from Mr. Brewster," Sam defended, loudly.

"Is that who hit you, Sammy?" Caleb glanced down at the boy. "This Brewster guy?"

The kid hesitated, his brow furrowing as he looked up at Reaves. Caleb understood the hesitancy. So much of their world was sheathed in secrets; it was hard for _him_ to know when it was all right to be honest. He could only imagine how confusing it could be for Sam. "It's okay, Sammy. You can tell her."

"Yeah, he hit me and Zach," Sam admitted, with a nod.

Kim sighed. "We've had several reports from that household over the years, but have never been able to get enough proof to make the charges stick. We've taken the other child into custody also, but his mother is on the way."

"Did you tell the police that? About the other reports? " Caleb asked.

"They are well aware of the situation. I really don't think they will press charges against your nephew."

Caleb nodded, raked a hand through his dark hair. That would be more than he could hope for. "I hope you're right." The last thing he needed was to plan a jail break.

Mac would _not _ be happy if the felonies began to stack up.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, a prison escape was the last thing on his mind as Caleb and Sam, who had refused to stay with the nice desk sergeant, were led back to one of the rooms used for interrogation.

Too many memories from his own days as a troubled teen flooded through the psychic's mind along with echoes of residual negative feelings that corroded the plain block walls of the Jonesboro Jail.

Then there was the fact that Sam had attached himself to his side like a four-foot barnacle, barely even speaking to Caleb on the ride over, but refusing to release his death grip on the older man. He'd practically scaled Reaves like a tree when the nice police woman had tried to bribe him to go with her by promising the boy a Coke and M&M's.

And now, as Dean was brought into the room by a deputy to speak with them, he was more concerned with the kid's state than escaping the authorities. "Damn, Deuce," Caleb stood from the hard-backed chair, taking in the damage. "You ever hear of bob and weave, or blocking a punch?"

The fourteen-year-old rolled his eyes with a huff. "You try taking on three drunk lumber jacks and see how you look, dude."

Sam was on his feet now, too. He hesitated only a moment before dodging around the table to launch himself at his big brother.

"Hey," Dean caught him, wincing slightly as the boy wrapped his arms around his waist and held on. "You okay, tiger?"

Sam nodded his head, where it was buried in Dean's t-shirt, but didn't speak even though his grip tightened. The older Winchester glanced up at Caleb, a worried look haunting his young, damaged face as he ran his fingers over his brother's sweat-matted hair.

"He has a few bruised ribs and one hell of a shiner, but he checked out okay. Although, he's developed a weird shadow complex. Don't be expecting any alone time real soon."

Dean gripped his little brother's shoulders and pushed him back far enough so that he could kneel down in front of him. "Sammy?"

The ten-year-old still had his head dropped, avoiding Dean's gaze. "What's going on? Talk to me."

"You left me." Sam finally mumbled, and Dean sighed as he caught site of a fat tear on it's hasty decent to the grimy floor. "I was all by myself." It wasn't like his little brother, and the odd behavior was a testament to just how bad today had gone.

"Sammy." Dean reached out and lifted his brother's chin, forcing the dark gaze to meet his concerned eyes. "I didn't have a choice. You know that. I'd never leave you alone, if I could help it."

"Those people took me away-just like Dad said they would."

It had been an effective threat over the years-for both boys. John had explained none too kindly, of the dangers of Sam and Dean being 'taken' away if they weren't careful. It was the same speech they got when there was trouble at school or if a hunt went bad and they were forced to go to a hospital. On occasion, counselors and teachers with the best of intentions had driven the point home when they'd reported unusual bruises or lack of parental supervision to the appropriate authorities. Then there was the time when Sam had been taken away by their grandfather. Dean felt his guilt mount as he thought of his little brother in the situation that in a round about way he had caused. He had inadvertently brought all those old fears and insecurities back to the surface.

"But you're back now. It's okay." Dean waited for the little boy to look at him. "No one's taking you away again."

Sam shook his head, long bangs falling across his bruised face. "The man said there would be an investigation…that I would have to come back and talk to them."

"That's not going to happen, Sammy." Dean squeezed his shoulder, pushed the hair out of his eyes. "Dad will take care of it. I promise. We'll be long gone before anyone even notices."

"But Daddy's not here," the kid said, and his lip began to tremble, "And you're in jail."

"Not for long," Caleb interjected, as he caught sight of a plain clothes detective heading their way.

The door to the glass-encased room opened and a tall, burly man entered. There was a shiny, gold badge affixed to the belt around his waist. He quickly side-stepped Dean and Sam, extending his hand to Caleb. "Mister Winchester?"

Reaves nodded. "Caleb," He added, releasing the man's firm grip.

"Caleb, I'm Detective Evans. I was the investigating officer at the domestic scene." He glanced to Dean and then to Sam, who was half-hiding behind his brother's leg and his stern features softened a bit. "I have the bruises to prove it."

The psychic raised a brow and Evans smiled. "The little one has quite the temper."

Caleb sighed, feeling grateful that both the boys hadn't been arrested. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Runs in the family, I'm afraid."

The detective nodded. "I understand that you're the paternal uncle?"

"Yeah," Caleb favored the boys with a quick look. "I am."

"And where is your brother?" Evans raised a brow.

"He's working out of town."

"He often leave his boys unattended when he goes on business trips?"

Caleb saw Dean start to open his mouth and shot him a hard glance. "No, sir. He just left out this morning and I was on my way in from Memphis to stay with them for the weekend when I got the call from Dean. I was suppose to be here earlier, but got hung up at school. I'm studying Architectural Engineering at the University, so I'm always close by if John needs me."

Dean rolled his eyes at the lies slipping like honey from Caleb's lips. The only thing Reaves studied seriously while at college had been the female co-eds. Architecture and engineering might have been natural-born talents, but hunting was in his blood-it was his calling. Mac had to blackmail him just to get him to finish his degree. "Did your nephew explain to you what happened?"

Caleb shook his head. "No. Just that there was an incident with his brother and a fight. How bad is it?"

"It's not as bad as I had thought it might be. Seems that Mister Brewster has a harder head than we had thought. He came to in the ER about an hour ago." Evans motioned for them to take a seat. "Maybe the boy would be better off waiting outside with one of our staff."

"No," Dean answered, and found Sam's agreement, when the kid latched onto his hand. "He's fine with me."

"You okay with that?" The officer favored Caleb with a look that suggested he really thought it was best if Sam left.

All it took was one look at his _nephews _to know that wasn't an option. "He can stay."

Evans sighed, and shuffled some of the papers in his hand. "Suit yourself, son, but therapy ain't cheap these days."

Caleb almost laughed at the idea of Sam needing therapy over such a trivial thing after what the kid had seen in his lifetime. It was like saying he required major surgery for a splinter. "What are the charges against my nephew?"

"At the moment, we have trespassing and aggravated assault. He took a table leg to the man's head, but like I said Brewster's skull is apparently filled with rocks." The detective favored Caleb with a look, "But if your nephew will cooperate- explain to me what happened. I might be able to do something about the assault charges."

Caleb watched as the teenager rolled his eyes, attitude dripping off of him. "Dean?"

He shrugged his shoulders, slumped further in the chair. "They ain't interested in what I have to say."

The psychic bit his lip to keep the nasty language at bay. "He just said he was."

"And cops don't lie?" Dean raised a brow, shooting the other hunter a look.

_Okay. _Caleb knew he had played somewhat of a part in the teen's dislike and distrust of authority, but the weight of it still fell squarely on John Winchester's shoulders. Reaves might have admired, even on occasion encouraged, the kid's ballsy bravado, but now was not the freakin' time to be playing the James Dean bit. "Tell him everything!" He ordered, sharply. "Now."

Dean looked away. Caleb stood, sliding his chair back. "Could you excuse me and my nephew a minute?"

Evans nodded and Caleb strode around the table, roughly taking Dean by the arm and pulling him outside the conference room, Sammy in tow. "What the hell is your problem, Deuce?" Caleb demanded as soon as the door was closed behind them.

Dean jerked away. "Hands off, Lucifer."

Caleb figured the kid had been through enough man-handling today so he let him go, sliding both his hands through his dark hair. "Cut the attitude, kid. This is serious shit."

"Shouldn't I have a lawyer then?"

"You've got to be kidding me. Right?" Reaves rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "You want legal representation?"

"No." Dean growled, bit his lip. "I want to get out of here." He looked down at Sam, and his jaw clenched. "I want to get us both the hell out of this town."

"Then the way to do that is to tell the cop what he wants to know, Deuce." Reaves sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "This isn't ever going to get to court and you know it. Just tell them why you were fighting. Tell them about Sam."

When Dean looked back up, Caleb instantly understood why he was balking. Anger simmered in the green depths, barely controlled beneath the surface. He didn't even need to do a reading to pick up on the nervous energy thrumming through the other boy causing him to quake like a steam valve ready to blow.

This incident had been different. Dean had lost control.

Even now, it was taking all he had to hold the monstrous rage at bay.

"I'll tell him," Sam spoke up, as if he sensed and understood his brother's trepidation.

Caleb looked at him, and for the first time realized that Sam probably did understand. After all, he'd witnessed the fight. Maybe his desire to see Dean hadn't completely been about how scared he was-but how frightened he was for his brother.

"No," Dean shook his head, bit his lip. "I can do it."

"Look. Just focus on getting out of here, okay." Reaves nodded towards the door, not really knowing what to say to fix this-to make it all better. "It's over, so just stick to the facts. And take deep breaths." He awkwardly patted the teen on the shoulder. "You'll be fine."

Dean looked at him like he was an idiot. "Sure thing, Oprah."

Caleb's jaw clenched and he felt the little vein just above his eye start to throb. "Then just consider it a damn order."

"You're not the boss of him," Sam spoke up, and Caleb pointed a finger at the kid.

"Oh yeah, runt? Well I've got papers that say differently."

"Fake papers," Sam shot back, and Reaves was surprised to find himself more grateful that Sam was sounding more _'Sam'_, than he actually was irritated at the bratty behavior.

"Tell it to the judge," the hunter replied, motioned for the now smirking Dean to open the door. "Let's get this over with so we can get the hell out of here before John comes home. He's going to be blowing sunshine out his ass over this one."

"Is everything okay?" Officer Evans eyed the three warily as they returned to their seats.

"Fine. Just a quick family meeting to regroup." Caleb sat, scooted his chair under the table, leaned back and looked at Dean. "You want to tell the man what happened now, Dean?"

The teen took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried to remember the first part of the day without getting completely overwhelmed with emotion. There was the anger for himself. He'd went off the handle. Fought when he was pissed. Two things his father had drilled in him not to do since he was a kid.

Then there was the worry for Sam. Dean had failed to protect him, and let him be taken away. No matter what the reasoning, his little brother had been hurt both physically and emotionally.

And then there was all the seething hate. Hate for the man who had dared to touch his little brother, to beat up his own son. Dean would never understand people. At times he understood the whole fire and brimstone destruction thing, though.

_It had all started out like a normal day-at least as normal as it got in the Winchester world. John had gone on a hunt the day before, leaving Dean in charge of the household, and in charge of Sam. _

_The house wasn't much to speak of-a run down trailer in a motor home park called River Shore, in the poor part of Jonesboro. It was falling apart and infested with more things than Dean cared to think about. But it was dirt cheap, and didn't require a damage deposit or a lot of questions on the rental agreement-two things that John Winchester looked for when his small family was running low on cash and time. _

_It was summer and Dean and Sam had made the most of it, spending more time in their tent down by the river, than in the stifling tin box. At least they didn't have to go to school, and John had promised that they would be moving on soon. It was a hope that Dean clung to when the temperature had reached a whopping 105 degrees after one in the afternoon. Even the roaches were staying in, canceling their typical parade across the kitchen counter on account of weather. _

_He'd been sitting in front of the fan near one of the opened windows when he first heard it. Sam's voice had floated in on the near non-existent breeze, bringing an instant chill to his sweat-slicked skin that the smothering, recycled air had not been able to accomplish. _

_The teen had bolted to his feet at the first scream of his name, his thoughts automatically running through a list of atrocities that could have befallen his little brother. They ran the gambit from rattle snake or copperhead bite, to the clumsy kid tumbling into one of the many thorn-covered, berry bushes that lined the river banks. _

_Sam was not allowed to go to the river alone or with friends unless Dean was with them, but Dean remembered being ten, and even though Sam usually listened, there were times when the kid's insatiable curiosity got the best of him. At least if he was screaming, he couldn't have drowned. _

"_DEAN!" Sam called again, and the older Winchester stepped out onto the rickety wooden deck just as the ten-year-old barreled up the lop-sided stairs. _

"_Hey," He caught Sam's shoulders as the kid nearly collided with him, pulling them both inside. Dean was worried the porch might give way with their combined weight, considering John had put his boot through it, just the day before. "What's wrong?" _

_It was then that Dean had seen Sam's eye. It was ringed in red, already swelling, promising one spectacular display of bruising. "Sammy? What the hell…"_

"_I'm sorry," Sam cried, collapsing against his brother's chest. "Don't tell, Dad." _

"_What?" Dean tightened his grasp on the little boy's trembling shoulders. "Have you been fighting?" _

_Sam looked up then, still gasping breath from running the whole length of the lot, where Zach's family owned a trailer. "Zach…"He choked. _

"_Sammy? You've been fighting with Zach?" Dean shook him slightly when Sam didn't answer him right away, and instead kept gasping. "Calm down." It wasn't like his brother to fight, especially not with a kid younger than him. A sweet, quiet kid like Zach. Still…_

_He ran one hand up and down his little brother's arm. "Just breathe. Okay?" _

_Sam nodded, his breath hitching as he fought to reign it in. "Tell me what happened." _

"_We were playing Nintendo in Zach's room. I didn't know his Dad would be home early." _

_Dean frowned, his eyes raking over the younger boy. Damn it. Brewster was trouble. John had told Sam to stay away from the man, but Dean had caved and let his little brother go to the other boy's to play. And look where that had gotten them. _

_Sam's Spiderman shirt was ripped, blood staining it from where his lip had been busted. There was no way that scrawny, eight-year-old, Zach had done that kind of damage to Sam-who could hold almost hold his own with Dean. That only left..._

"_Sam?" Dean tightened his hold on the boy's slim shoulders, garnering his complete attention. "Did Zach's dad do this to you? Did that slimy bastard touch you?" Dean wasn't stupid. He'd seen the bruises on Zach, hoped it wasn't as bad as it seemed. _

"_I…I know I'm not suppose to be there when he's home…I'm sorry. He came in with some friends…They were drinking beer and Zach and I tried to leave real quietly, but we had to go through the living room." _

_Dean could feel his pulse quicken with each sob. His anger level rose as his fingers made contact with the hot skin of his brother's arm, where red, whelp-like impressions encircled it. "And?" The teen prodded, knowing he wasn't going to like what his kid brother was about to tell him. _

"_And Zach walked in front of the T.V. …just for a minute. His dad grabbed him and started shaking him." Sam swallowed hard, his brown eyes filling with tears again. "He kept on and on and Zach's head was snapping back and forth. It was like a poltergeist attack." _

"_And you tried to help?" _

_Sam nodded, wiping the back of his arm over his face. "He hit me and knocked me down. I tried to get up, tried to block him, but he kicked me, and then threw me out the door." Sam lifted his shirt, and Dean felt a surge of heat race from his toes all the way up his torso, only to explode in a shade of murderous crimson across his face. _

"_Son of a bitch!" Dean snarled, running his fingers along the younger boy's ribs. "Can you breathe okay?" Nothing felt broken. Sam had calmed down some, wasn't struggling for air, but the man could have killed his little brother. _

"_I'm…okay." _

"_Good. Then stay here. I'll fix you up when I get back." _

"_Dean…no!" Sam caught his brother's hand. "Don't!" _

"_Sam," the older boy whirled around. "He's not going to get away with hurting you." _

"_Dad will find out. Mr. Brewster will call the police."_

"_Let him." Dean started for the door, shrugging off his kid brother's grasp. "He better call an ambulance while he's at it." Even the thought of the great John Winchester's wrath didn't slow him down. _

_Sam started after him, but the other boy stopped, held up a hand. "No!" He pointed his finger at his brother. "Stay here. I mean it." _

_Dean didn't remember much after that. It was like he was watching his body from outside himself. He knew he had walked into a scene straight from Deliverance. _

_Two good old boys and Brewster, who each outweighed Dean didn't take kindly to being called out and accosted by a teenager. Dean had gotten in some good shots, using his feet more than his fists, just like he'd been taught to do when facing an opponent who could cause a lot of damage if given the chance. _

_A few well-placed round house kicks and side kicks into the soft middles of the men had them gasping for air, before they forced the teen against the hot metal siding of the trailer home. If not for Sam showing up and yelling enough to distract them, it might have been over just then. But Dean had spotted a busted table near the side of the porch, grabbed a thick wooden leg, and wielded it like a Louisville Slugger._

_Watching them drop like flies was almost as satisfying as knocking a ball out of the park, but pummeling Brewster was like a triple play in the bottom of the ninth. It fed his rage instead of calming it, and he didn't want to think too long or too hard on what might have happened if Sam's frightened voice hadn't reached him in his adrenaline hyped state, quashing the fire like a bucket of cool water. _

Dean rubbed his chin, where Brewster had clipped him with an uppercut.

"So you went over there to exact some revenge?" The detective asked, jotting some notes in a notepad as the teen stopped talking. He'd recanted the entire incident to them, his eyes never straying from Caleb's face as he spoke in a detached manner.

"And to check on the other kid," Reaves interjected before the younger hunter could comment. He broke away from the teen's gaze and looked at Evans. The last thing they needed was for Dean to look like a punk vigilante. "My nephew has been raised to stick up for those who can't take care of themselves. To protect his little brother and anyone else who might be in trouble." It was all true-the code of the Brotherhood. Nobody took it as seriously as Dean Winchester.

The police officer smiled, tapping the pen against the conference table. "Son, that's what the law is for."

"Hasn't worked for Zack so far," Sam stated, edging closer to his brother when the detective's gaze fell to him.

The officer looked back to Caleb, with a slight shake of his head. He dropped the pen on the table. "Want to tell me how a fourteen-year-old takes down three grown men twice his size?" Evans raised a brow, taking in Reaves' size, his attitude and demeanor. "What else have you been teaching him?"

"His daddy was a Marine." Caleb shrugged. "And maybe we shouldn't have let him watch all those Chuck Norris movies when he was a kid. Then there were those damn Power Rangers…who knew."

The detective raised a hand to cut off the young psychic's rambling explanation, and sighed. "I get the picture."

He rubbed a hand over his face and Reaves noticed the gold, wedding band on his finger.

The hunter took in a breath and utilized his psychic abilities. Evans had two children, a boy and a girl. "_You_ wouldn't have wanted to kill him?" Caleb jutted his chin towards Sam, then looked the officer in the eye. "Because I gotta' tell you, if I'd been there, or their daddy had been there, your man Brewster wouldn't have woken up."

Evans studied the rag tag group in front of him. "Give me a minute."

The detective rose from the table, closed the door behind him as he left. "That went well," Dean said, snidely. "I'm so going to fry."

Caleb frowned. "He buys your story, Deuce-although he thinks you're headed for a lifetime of trouble. But he likes Sammy, reminds him of his little boy. He's going to go to bat for you."

"You're not suppose to read people's minds without their permission." Sam pointed out and Reaves rolled his eyes. "Who says?"

"Jim says."

"Well Jim ain't here, now is he?" Caleb raked a hand through his hair. "Why are you busting my chops, anyway, runt? I'll have you know that I dumped a very hot red-head to come play Uncle Caleb."

"You're not our Uncle."

Reaves looked to Dean, who only shrugged. "He missed his nap."

"I don't take naps."

"Exactly," Dean replied. "That's why you're grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy, I'm hungry."

"That's why you should have taken the cute cop up on her offer of snacks," Caleb suggested.

"I'm not suppose to take food from strangers."

Reaves groaned. "God, just kill me now."


	3. Chapter 3

And for just a moment Caleb thought he _had_ died and gone to hell when he finally set foot in the current Winchester abode.

Luckily, Reaves had been right about Evans. The man got the charges dropped against Dean, writing it up as justified self defense.

After that, it had taken only about an hour for Dean to be processed and his statement to be typed up for him to sign. Later, Detective Evans had sent them on their way with a warning for the teen to keep his nose clean and for them not to leave town until the entire matter was taken care of. Both orders would be blatantly ignored, but it got them a _get out of jail free_ card, and they were on their way.

They had all been exhausted and irritable and ready to go home, but after seeing _home, _Reaves had the immediate desire to load the boys up once more and book it back to Memphis. Only the twin looks of complete exhaustion on the Winchesters faces and the fear that John might show up sometime during the night convinced the psychic to stay put, at least until sunrise.

"Damn it, John," Caleb drew in a deep breath let it out slowly as he dropped his duffel onto the molded, puke green carpet. He looked at the squalor around him.

The trailer was structurally in shambles, stifling hot with only window fans for cooling. One wall had a hole punched completely through the paneling, and the young hunter imagined that in the brightness of day, light shone directly through it.

The floors were warped from water damage and bad set-up, and the tile ceilings were stained from leaks. Thank God it wasn't winter because he was guessing that insulation was non-existent. Sometimes he didn't understand John Winchester.

"Home sweet home," Dean said, as he dropped onto the striped couch that had probably seen it's last good day sometime in the seventies. Sam slid in next to him, and the older boy casually raised his arms in a yawn, dropping one over the younger boy's shoulders before looking up at Reaves.

Caleb had the sudden urge to yank them up from the offensive piece of furniture as his unwilling mind was flooded with images of things that had occurred there. He didn't want them anywhere near it, or even around it. Then there was the living space, in general. "How about we go out for dinner, guys? My treat."

Dean looked at Sam, who seemed to be fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. "Can't we just fix something here?"

The older man shrugged and took the two steps that led him into the kitchen. He opened a cabinet, winced as something scuttled quickly across his field of vision. "Is there anything consumable here?" Even with all the dishes clean and the floors swept, the small room still seemed unsanitary, and the thought of Dean and Sam living in the place had a flash of heat surging through him that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

"Hotdogs," Sam said, sitting up some. "We could roast them down at the tent."

"Tent?" Caleb raised a brow. At the moment, anything would be better than the hot box of salmonella.

"Dean and I camp down at the river when Dad's not here," Sam explained, rubbing at his tired eyes, wincing as his hand came into contact with the swollen one.

The dark-haired hunter opened the freezer, glad to find a couple of ice packs which he tossed to Dean. John might not have food in the house, but he was damn well going to have well-stocked medical supplies. "Sounds better than Hotel Winchester."

Dean leaned forward, placing one of the packs on Sam's face and guiding the boy's hand up to hold it. "It's cooler by the water, and mosquitoes are better than roaches any day."

"Yeah," The other hunter sighed, combed a hand through his dark hair. "Why don't you go get changed Sam?"

The younger boy looked at Dean who nodded. "Get the sleeping bags from the closet, too, Sammy."

"Okay," Sam handed him the ice and then pushed off from the couch with the first real grin Dean had seen since that morning. "But you get the marshmallows."

Caleb waited until the ten-year-old disappeared down the hallway. "Fuck, Deuce. How long have you all been in this shit hole?"

"Just about a month." Dean shrugged one shoulder, holding the ice to his jaw. He ducked his head slightly. "It's not that bad, man." It was a lie and they both knew it.

Caleb gave him an incredulous look, but decided to let the rest of his rant drop, after recognizing the emotion in the green eyes. It wasn't like the teen had any say in the matter. "And you called _my_ last apartment a dump?" He snorted, with a shake of his head, and got the desired effect he was hoping for.

Dean gave him a cocky grin. "You don't see any ladies of the night standing out under the lamp post, do you? And hey, at least the cops will come here when they're called."

"Lucky you," Reaves stepped forward, reached out despite Dean's grunt of protest and roughly raised the boy's chin so he could get a better look at his face. "Those bastards did a number on you, kiddo." Caleb almost wished Detective Evans hadn't promised to keep the men detained for at least forty-eight hours. He could have thoroughly enjoyed teaching them a thing or two about picking on people half their size.

"Still better looking than you." Dean smirked, and the dark-haired hunter let him go.

"Right. Keep dreaming."

"I'm ready." Sam interrupted them, dragging two large duffel bags behind him. His other arm held a lantern, flashlight, and a first aide kit. The kid was a Winchester through and through.

Caleb grabbed the gear and grinned down at Sam. "Cute jammies, runt."

The ten-year-old flashed Reaves a hateful look. He had changed out of the torn and bloody clothes and was now wearing an old ball shirt of Dean's and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days. "Shut up."

"Wait," Reaves glanced down at the supplies. "You forgot something."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Where's Woo Bee?"

Dean laughed despite himself at the mention of his little brother's faithful, albeit ragged stuffed toy, and Sam shot him a nasty glare. "Dick head," he grumbled, pushing past the psychic and stomping out of the trailer, the screen door slamming behind him.

"He's such a baby," Caleb sighed, scooping up the bags, grinning madly.

Dean snorted. "He's not the only one. What next? You two going to get into a pillow fight, or put shaving cream on each other in the middle of the night?"

"Dick head," Caleb echoed the youngest Winchester's sentiment, his cocky grin still in place as he headed out the same way Sam had, leaving Dean to lock up and gather the makings for dinner.

"So much for adult supervision." The teen sighed, pushing himself up from the couch, hoping to rifle enough food to feed the _kids_.

Six hotdogs and a whole bag of marshmallows later found one of the children out for the count. Sam had curled close to Dean, one of his hands twisted in the older boy's shirt even in sleep. The older Winchester absently ran his fingers through his little brother's hair, hoping to lull himself into that same blissful oblivion where his mind would stop torturing him with _what ifs. _

But his eyes remained wide open despite the exhaustion tugging at his abused body, and he sighed in frustration at his inability to force himself to calm down.

"Deuce, you're ruining the moment for me."

Caleb was laying near them in the three-man tent, listening to the sounds of the summer night. The crickets and frogs were battling to outdo one another, drowned out only by the rushing of the river just beyond them.

Dean had been right when he said it was cooler by the water, and after a week in the bustling city of Memphis, the hunter had to admit that the illusion of wide-open spaces was a welcomed one. He could almost pretend that they weren't on the outskirts of the hell hole that John had left his boys in.

"Do I want to know what kind of personal moment you're having over there, Reaves?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, kid. I'm just taking in the solitude, embracing Mother Nature."

"As long as that's the only thing you're embracing."

Reaves snorted, rolled over and pushed himself up on one elbow. "Why don't you tell me what it is _you_ can't seem to let go of, so we both can join Sammy boy in dreamland."

Dean took a deep breath, stared up through the mesh sky hatch in the tent, watching the wealth of stars winking in the midnight expanse above them. "Just studying the constellations."

"Like you know Taurus from the Big Dipper."

"Hey, ass wipe , I can name almost all of them," Dean defended, pointing a finger to the cluster to their right. Jim taught me." He glanced at Caleb and then back to the night sky. "There's Cygnus, and Pegasus, the Little Dipper, and Sammy's favorite, Draco, the dragon."

"And let me guess, there's your favorite." Caleb gestured to the cluster near Sirius and Taurus. "Orion."

"Yeah. The great hunter." Dean dropped his arm, took another breath and sighed heavily. "That's the first one Jim showed me."

"Me too," Caleb frowned thoughtfully, "But I always had a thing for Cassiopeia."

The teen scoffed. "You would."

"Hey, Jim painted a very vivid picture of her, especially considering the whole five star W-shape is a stretch if you ask me."

"You'd prefer some kind of planetary aligned pasties and a garter belt?"

"Hell yeah," Caleb laughed. "I might have been a better student."

"Lucky thing Jim's a good teacher."

The teen's voice had taken on the sullen quality again with the mention of the kindly Pastor who they both admired the hell out of though neither would cop to it. Caleb rubbed at his tired eyes, wondering how best to get through to the thick-skulled kid.

"Dude, just tell me what the fuck is on your mind so I don't have to break the whole 'no reading without permission' rule and risk pissing off Kid Morality over there."

"I'm never going to get a ring."

"What?" Caleb had suspected a lot of things but that wasn't one of them. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He heard Dean sigh again. "The Brotherhood, man. I don't deserve it. I'm not the person Jim thinks I am."

"Did you hit your head or something?" Reaves reached over and placed a hand on Dean's forehead. "Are you running a fever?"

"Cut it out," The teen shoved his hand away, and Sam shifted in his sleep, mumbling something that sounded like _Dean_. "I'm being serious." The fourteen-year-old lowered his voice.

"You're being an idiot," Caleb huffed. "Why would you think that?" The kid had all the attributes of a hunter, including a few, like undying loyalty and faith in his family, that Reaves was pretty sure he, himself, was lacking in.

He heard Dean's hair brush against the sleeping bag as he stubbornly shook his head. "I would have killed him…Brewster. He wasn't a monster or a spirit, or even a demon, but I would have wasted him in a heartbeat. I'm a murderer."

Caleb watched the teen's profile in the darkness, feeling his heart clench. "But you didn't kill him, Deuce."

The teen's eyes locked on him, and even in the inky buffer of the tent, Reaves could see the pain reflected in the green pools. "Not because I didn't want to. I never thought…I mean, Jesus, Caleb, if I had a gun in my hand I would have…"

"Protected your family."

The teen choked on what sounded like a sob poorly disguised as a laugh. "I would have crossed the line, Caleb."

The older hunter had rarely heard Dean sound so morose, and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

He could remember the first time he'd found himself staring into the abyss, observing a skewed fun house image for his trouble. The reflection that was cast back from that place could shake a person, leave them questioning the very core that held their soul. He wouldn't let Dean face that yet, maybe not ever, especially because of some piece of shit hillbilly who got his jollies beating on little kids.

"I want you to listen to me, Deuce, because I'm only going to say this once."

The fourteen-year-old went back to his perusal of the heavens, the uncharacteristic concerned tone of the other hunter making him feel claustrophobic. "Okay, but just so you know, if this is the _birds and the bees _speech, you're too late. I've been reading _Hustler_ since I was Sammy's age."

Caleb ignored the attempt at humor. "There **isn't** a fucking line, kid."

The teen frowned, his eyes glistening in the light of the moon, as Reaves took a breath, then swallowed hard and continued. "There isn't good, bad, and evil. There's only doing what needs to be done."

Dean looked at him, but remained silent. "You hope like hell that you're doing it for love…that it's coming from the right place." Caleb licked his lips, gestured towards the unknown planets light years away from them. "But in the end, it's that whole great, beautiful, terrible deal and most of the time…we're powerless before it."

"Even you?" Dean had thought many things about the man talking, but powerless was never one of them.

Reaves laughed then, rolled back onto the hard ground. "Hell, Deuce, if I wasn't, I'd be getting all hot and bothered with one sweet red-head not sweating in this G.I. Joe tent with you two goofballs, fighting off mosquitoes the size of bats." He sighed. "So listen to me when I tell you that you're not a murderer. You're a good brother," Caleb glanced at the kid out of the corner of his eye, " And when the time comes you'll be a damn fine addition to the Brotherhood."

The teen was quiet for a moment, and Caleb was beginning to worry that the little speech had gone right in one ear and out the other. After all, Dean was a whole hell of a lot like he'd been at that age.

"Thanks for coming, man," The teen finally spoke up.

But maybe he was salvageable. "Just don't make a habit of it."

"Right."

"And kid," Caleb raised up on his elbow again, and pinned Dean with a hard look. "When I _do_ decide to impart my knowledge about the fairer sex, you'll want to be sure to take notes because you can't get what I know from any two-bit smut magazine." The dark haired hunter grinned. "And they'll be a field trip because it's definitely a hands-on subject, not lecture material."

The familiar gleam returned to the younger hunter's eyes. "When might this imparting of wisdom take place, Master?"

Caleb laughed. "When you grow up, young Jedi."

"I am grown up," Dean defended. "I shave…sometimes twice a day."

"Go to sleep, Deuce." Reaves relaxed back on his sleeping bag, a satisfied smirk on his face.

The teen closed his eyes, felt the knots in his stomach loosen some, the taught muscles in his lithe body give just a little. He grinned to himself. " 'night, Uncle Caleb."

"Don't ever call me that again," Reaves growled, and Dean laughed.

"Keep it up, kid. Enjoy yourself while you can. Because you won't think anything is very funny tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, why's that?"

"Because your dad is so going to kick your ass when he gets home."

The End

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this one. I had a lot of fun writing it, and working with Tidia, who made it such a better story. In fact, she inspired part of the ending with her upcoming story _Black Bras and Strappy High-heeled Shoes. _Let's just say, she's giving us a ring-side seat for Caleb's _birds and the bees _spiel, and it is so juicy... Poor Dean will _never_ be the same. BG. And as always, please let me know what you think. Those plot bunnies seem to thrive on comments.


	4. Epilogue

_A/N: Okay, I hadn't planned on doing this, but so many people asked if I would. I'm such a sucker. I hope it's __ what you wanted. _

_Warning: Language...uhhhh, this is John we're talking about here. He's not an alter boy. bg. _

The damn phone was ringing. AGAIN.

Caleb groaned in his now semi-asleep state, irritated he couldn't even dream about having uninterrupted relations with the hot redhead from the bar. He patted the hard ground around him, coming into contact with the side of the tent. He let his fingers slide down the nylon material to finally find the offensive object he was searching for.

"Yeah?" He growled, blinking in the darkness to orient himself to the unfamiliar surroundings.

"_Caleb?" _The hard voice of John Winchester boomed across the line and the psychic flinched, casting a quick glance to his sleeping charges. He damn well expected them to jump to their feet and stand at attention. The older man's voice seemed to be amplified through a bullhorn, echoing in the darkness around them.

Reaves shook his head when neither boy even stirred. They were either more out of it than he thought, or playing opossum so he'd have to face the firing squad solo. The hunter was betting on the latter. _Freakin' brats. _

"John," the psychic greeted, coolly after Winchester once again barked his name. Caleb managed to get to his knees, and used his free hand to unzip the tent as quietly as he could manage. He slipped out into the cool night air, wincing as his bare feet connected with the rough ground, understanding why cowboys slept with their damn boots on.

"_Where the hell are you, Reaves?" _

The young hunter snorted, making his way to one of the buckets that he and the boys had used as chairs earlier in the night. "Funny, but I was about to ask you the same thing. It's like you read my mind." He picked up a stick and poked at the still glowing embers of their campfire. "Want to try and see if you can read what I'm thinking now?"

He heard his friend sigh heavily on the other end, imagined him raking fingers through his hair as he tried to get control of his temper. "_God damn it, Caleb."_

"Fine," Caleb replied around another jaw-popping yawn. "I'm at the lovely five star resort you and the boys have been staying at. In fact, I'm on the veranda now, enjoying my scenic view of the river as we speak. The way the structure blends with the natural landscape is quite breathtaking-almost like sleeping outside under the stars."

"_Are the boys with you?" _

"Yep," Caleb threw some more kindling on the fire, bringing it back to life. "They're tucked away safely in their estate rooms after consuming the lavish meal the wait staff prepared for them."

"_Cut the bullshit, Caleb!"_

Reaves let his planned dig slide back down his throat, into the vast storage of gripes he had to pick with John and sent a side-long glance back to the tent. He heard a slight rustling of blankets, but nothing more.

"_Are they okay?" _

The genuine concern he was picking up on pushed away some of his anger. "Well, let's see. Sam has one hell of a black eye and some bruised ribs. The people at DCS thought he had that pitiful, kicked puppy look going on- wanted to take his picture for the new Abuse Hot Line poster. But we declined. Dean's teeth should tighten back up on their own, but _he's_ not going to be able to do any print ad work anytime soon, unless it's for that new place Abercrombie & Somebody's Bitch." Even the sincere worry couldn't erase _all_ the pent up frustration.

"_Did you take care of it?" _

"Of what, exactly? The police? DCS? Their bleeding wounds and missing limbs?"

"_Caleb…Mac said you were going to handle it?" _

So that was it. Mackland had tracked down the wayward hunter. "It's handled."

"_And they're all right?" _

"Do you want the truth?" Caleb snapped, suddenly more pissed than he had been only seconds before. He was tired and riding somewhat of an adrenaline hangover. Not the kind he was use to with hunting either, no…this was worse. It was the kind of lingering effect from an intense fear that should no longer rationally be present, the emotional equivalent to the dry heaves. Plus, if he was going to be hung over it should have been a because of his friends Jose and Jim Bean, like any normal, red-blooded single twenty-three-year-old male. "Because I'm pretty sick of glazing it over for you, Johnny boy."

"_What the hell does that mean?" _

Reaves stood up, paced towards the river's edge despite the twigs and sharp rocks biting into his feet. "It means you left your kids in a roach-infested, two-bit shack in the middle of bum-fuck Arkansas, with the cast of Deliverance as their friendly raping, pillaging, and cross-burning neighbors."

"_Put Dean on the phone." _

"The place is structurally unsound, the floors are rotting, the ceiling is falling in, and if the walls in that place could talk, Johnny…well let's just say the Jonesboro police could wrap up a few of their unsolved violent crimes. I'm guessing the rats are big enough to carry Sammy off in the middle of the night…and…" Caleb wiped a hand over his face. "Just…Jesus Christ, John! What the hell were you thinking? Couldn't you have left them with Jim for the summer, like you use to…or Mac…"

"_Put Dean on the phone!" _

John was yelling now and Caleb was being dismissed, and damn if that didn't piss him off even more. "No fucking way!"

"_I said put DEAN on the phone! THAT's an order!" _

"You're kidding right?" Reaves laughed then, raked a hand through his hair. He cast his eyes heavenward, as if to ask if whoever was up there was getting a big kick in the pants out of the situation. "Did you forget I don't work _for _you, Winchester? And I sure the hell didn't get drafted to serve _under_ you. So cut the fucking drill sergeant spiel." There was no way he was going to wake Dean up so the man could take his frustration out on a willing whipping boy.

"_I have seniority over you in a hunt and you damn well know that! Check the fucking rule book."_

"Rule book?" Caleb snapped. "If anyone needs to check a book out, it's you! Try Dr. Spock, I hear he has some good ones on parenting. And in case you missed this memo…I'm not on a hunt-neither is Dean or Sam."

"_Are you trying to fucking tell me how to raise my boys, Reaves?" _

"No. Beating my head against a wall is not my idea of fun, Winchester." And Caleb was afraid if he got started he'd never stop. It wasn't any of his business. He didn't really give a shit. And then… there was the whole thing about John being like a fucking brother to him…even if he was a fucking idiot.

"_I do the best that I can!" _

At that moment, the younger hunter wanted nothing more than to reach across the invisible phone lines and strangle the stupid son of a bitch. But it wouldn't have done anyone one bit of good. It wouldn't have spared Sam, Dean or John one bit of suffering. It wouldn't have even made the psychic feel any better. "You do what you think you have to, man." He sighed wearily, rubbed at his aching neck, knew there was no point in having this conversation. "There's a fucking difference. You're just too blind to see." Blinded by hate. Blinded by pain.

He sighed again, looked up at the night sky and watched Orion winking down at him. Maybe they were all a little nearsighted. Reaves clenched his right hand into a fist, felt the cool metal of the silver ring around his finger. "Look, Johnny. The boys are good. It's all good." He flashed a look back towards the tent, slowly made his way towards the fire once more. "I'm taking them with me-getting the hell out of this one-horse town. We'll meet up with you when you're finished. You just tell me where. I'll be there."

John sighed heavily on the other end, Caleb imagined he was rubbing a hand over his bearded face, trying to reign in the temper he had let go. He was tempted to get a reading on him, but held back, unwilling to break a trust he wasn't quite sure the other man deserved. _"You sure they're okay?" _

"They're Winchesters, aren't they?" They had to be okay. There was no other option, no luxury to be otherwise, _not_ okay.

"_Are **you** okay?"_

The question caught him off guard, had him scratching his head. "Me? Hell, you know me." Caleb rolled his eyes at his own inept ability to comeback with a quick retort. At John's ability to still sucker punch him after all the years they'd known each other.

"_Yeah. About the living arrangements…"_

"Don't worry, man. Deuce and I are going to burn that bitch to the ground before we get on the road. What's a little arson, when we've already covered assault, battery and trespassing?"

"_Caleb…"_

"I'm kidding." Reaves laughed, feeling somewhat of a balance return. "I wouldn't deny the next lucky tenant of that piece of Heaven."

"_You're a smart ass son of a bitch, you know that?" _

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome. Don't get all mushy on me."

Silence greeted him on the other end, and Reaves cut the connection, sliding the phone into his jeans pocket. "Shit," He mumbled to himself, scrubbing his hands over his face, wishing he'd thought to bring something stronger than the six pack of beer he had tied off in the river. Why did everything and everyone in his life have to be so damn complicated?

The young hunter was considering traipsing back to the water's edge to retrieve a bottle, when he heard the flap of the tent lift. He glanced up, surprised to find a bleary-eyed Sam crawling out towards him.

"Hey, runt, you should be asleep."

"I heard you yelling." Sam took perch on the bucket next to him. "Thought a bear was after you."

The dark haired hunter laughed. "I thought your brother was the only one with the Yogi hang up?"

"I'm not afraid of bears." Sam declared. "Was it Dad?"

"Yeah." Caleb nodded, roughly palming his eyes. "He's going to meet up with us later in the week."

"_Him_ I'm afraid of." Sam said around a sleepy yawn. "Is he mad at us?"

"You know your dad." The psychic looked at him then, studying his young, pale features in the reflected orange glow of the flames.

"Yeah," the kid drew his knees up, stretched his t-shirt over them and rested his chin on his arms. He turned his face to Reaves. "Do you think he'll punish Dean?"

The hunter raised a brow, not missing the concern and slight fear in the little boy's voice, and he had to admit it echoed his own worry. John wasn't violent, not with the boys, but he was damn strict, and he'd seen Dean take his fair share of punishments-more than his share. "Nah. He might kick _my_ ass though."

Sam grinned a little. "As long as it's not Dean."

_Exactly. _"Thanks." Caleb snorted. "I'm glad you've got your priorities straight. Not like I saved your scrawny ass or anything."

"You're bigger," the ten-year-old pointed out the obvious. "And way older."

"_Way_ older?" Reaves frowned, bumped his shoulder against Sam's.

Sam nodded, his grin growing. "You're suppose to look out for Dean…for me. Like Dad and Bobby looks out for you."

And to the boy, it was just that simple. Maybe he had the right idea. Maybe everything wasn't so complicated. "Yeah. You're a pretty smart kid, Sammy."

The ten-year-old nodded. "I know," He easily agreed around another yawn.

Reaves chuckled. "How's your face, Einstein?" The hunter cleared his throat, motioned to where Sam's lip had bled more sometime through the night, leaving a small smear of red across his chin.

The boy shrugged, wiped his finger over his lip, staring at the crimson stain. "Did you know that not all animals have red blood?"

The dark haired hunter wrinkled his brow. "You don't say?"

Sam picked at the black bracelet around his small wrist. "Some insects have yellow blood, and green blood. And some even have blue blood, because they have copper in their system instead of iron, like us."

"Weird," Caleb nodded, not sure where _that_ little lecture had come from. Sam could be odd at times.

"Cockroaches have clear blood," he looked at Reaves again. "But I don't know why."

The psychic got the impression they had veered off the true subject at hand, or maybe just doubled-back on it. "Maybe because they're alien life forms or some crap."

Sam lifted his head from his knees and looked at him as if he'd missed the point. His brown eyes were glistening now, and Caleb hoped like hell he didn't start leaking again. "I really hate cockroaches, Caleb." His voice broke a little, and he leaned closer to the other man. "And I don't like Arkansas very much either."

"Yeah," The hunter raked a hand through his hair. "Look, Sammy…about that..."

The little boy continued, his breath hitching. "I don't like Mr. Brewster, or police officers, and those people from kid services." The entire time he was talking, Sam kept looking at him with those damn unblinking eyes, and Caleb knew he'd let John off way too easy. But he wasn't quite sure what Sam wanted him to do.

"And…I don't like Dad much right now either." He finished and waited for the older man's reaction.

"Join the club, Sammy," Caleb finally replied, quietly, realizing that maybe the boy just wanted someone to commiserate with.

"He's a dickhead." Sam said, softly.

"Definitely," The older man agreed.

The little boy dropped his head back to his knees, turned his gaze back to the dying fire.

"Hey, Sammy?"

Sam looked at him. "Yeah?"

"You know what happens when you put someone's hand in warm water while their asleep?"

A faint grin tugged at the boy's face, as he shook his head. "Nope."

Reaves' own devilish grin flashed, and he nodded back towards the tent. "Want to find out?"

Sam nodded, enthusiastically. "I'll get the water."

The little boy jumped up, grabbing the pot from near the fire and started for the river's edge. Caleb watched him go, glancing up at the sky once more. This time he winked at Orion. "Deuce will understand, big guy. After all, great, beautiful, and _terrible_ things happen…all in the name of love."


End file.
